The Tiger Queens Page 48

  My days of calm were coming to an end.

  I looked up from the flute to see Shigi check Toregene’s throat for a pulse. He closed her mismatched eyes and let fly a tortured sob, his frail shoulders shaking with grief.

  Toregene had been well loved in this life, but now her soul gathered strength and soared to the sky, where I imagined her greeting Borte and Fatima in a tearful reunion.

  First we became widows. Now, one by one, death claimed us, until only Alaqai and I remained.

  One day, we, too, would join them. But not today.

  “Shigi,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. “We loved her, and we will honor her. But if we do not move quickly, Güyük may yet win.”

  He lifted his head and blinked away his tears, then nodded. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll see it done.”

  “You must take Toregene’s body to the mountains,” I said. “And her Great White Tent must be dismantled.”

  “My slaves can see to the tent,” he said, his voice wrought with emotion. “I’ll carry her to the mountains myself.”

  “Good. Have your slaves inform Güyük of her passing, but they must wait to deliver the message until you’re well outside the city walls.” I glanced around the empty tent, then dropped my voice. “You must gather Alaqai. Both you and she must ride for the camp of Batu and the Golden Horde.”

  Shigi gave a weary nod. “You plan to depose Güyük, don’t you?”

  “I plan to do much more than that.” I tucked my flute back into my wide sleeve and hesitated only long enough to press my forehead to Toregene’s, feeling the warmth still there. Then I straightened and squared my shoulders. “Where did they take Fatima?”

  “To the river outside the walls, downstream from the artificial river. Where all the city’s filth is dumped.” His gaze met mine. “I wanted to stop Güyük then, but I feared he’d turn on Toregene as well. I pray Fatima can forgive me.”

  “Fatima forgave much more than that over the course of her life,” I said gently. “She was doomed from the moment Güyük took the throne, but we were too blind to see it.” I wrapped one of Toregene’s discarded shawls around my graying hair and picked up an old woven basket. “I’ll see you in Batu’s camp. Go well, Shigi.”

  “Go well, Sorkhokhtani Beki,” Shigi murmured as Toregene’s tiger door closed behind me.

  I retraced my steps as quickly as I could, stopping for a moment in the stables to gather the necessary tools, then leaving behind the Silver Tree and the palace walls, and finally the whole of Karakorum. No one dared question an old woman on foot headed toward the river. The basket under my arm was heavy, but I managed.

  I almost expected a crowd at the site of Fatima’s execution, but instead the Orkhon River was deserted, as if both the living and the dead were offended by what had happened beneath the Earth Mother’s sacred waters.

  I didn’t have to go far before I found her.

  A large felt bundle was submerged beneath the surface, tied tight with rope and weighted down with many heavy stones. The water was bitingly cold, and it took several attempts before I could wade in and roll the stones away, then drag the muddy bundle out of the river. I panted from exertion and trembled from the cold, unsure whether I wished to face what lay inside.

  I wouldn’t cower from what I was to do in the coming days; I couldn’t hide from this either.

  The knots were too waterlogged to untie, so I used the knife from the basket to cut them loose. Closing my eyes, I gently peeled back the wet felts with their pervasive stench of wet wool and the lingering scent of terror.

  Then I opened my eyes.

  I lurched back and stumbled to the grasses, the earth spinning beneath my feet as I retched, gasping for air.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the brutalities visited upon this woman who, in life, had moved with such grace, whose silks were always gently perfumed, and whose mind was seeped in poetry and beauty.

  River water had bloated her naked corpse, the skin on her torso and limbs riddled with burn marks from branding irons. Still worse was her face; the nose, mouth, and eyes had been sewn shut with jagged stitches. The golden silk thread was stained with blood, its decadence garish against so monstrous a backdrop.

  I didn’t need to inspect the rest of the body to know that Güyük had ordered her every orifice sewn shut to prevent her spirit from escaping her body. He meant to punish Fatima in this life and the next, too.

  Kneeling in the grass under a sky throwing shadows dark with grief, I retched until my stomach was empty, rare tears pouring down my cheeks.

  There was nothing left of Fatima’s earthly body to save, but I might still salvage her soul.

  Fatima was a Saracen, and according to her beliefs, she must be buried before a full day had passed since her death. I recalled her words at Borte’s deathbed, claiming that her soul was already damned to the fires of hell. Yet I doubted whether any god would punish a woman of such loyalty and dignity as Fatima of Nishapur.

  The stench of death was overwhelming, but I cut the stitches on her face with trembling fingers, pulling away the hated golden thread. The deceptive silk stitching had been done with a careless hand, each stitch doubled over so Fatima’s soul had no hope of escape.

  Until now.

  I imagined her soul flying into the sky, returning to the gardens she had so loved. I had no doubt that her god would gather her to him and allow her to spend eternity in the paradise of Jannah, reclining on couches inlaid with gold and surrounded by fountains scented with ginger while watching rivers of pearls and rubies flow past.

  I turned to the basket I’d brought, retrieving the shovel taken from Güyük’s stables. Pausing occasionally to catch my breath, I dug a shallow grave for Fatima as dusk blanketed Karakorum.

  “I have no bolt of silk for your shroud,” I murmured to Fatima, forcing myself not to recoil as I smoothed the hair back from her ravaged face. “But I promise I will make this right.”

  I wrapped her again in the felt blanket, then dragged her broken body to the edge of the grave and gently laid her inside, making sure she lay on her right side facing Makkah. I tucked the dark earth over her, then arranged a wreath of red poppies and yellow wildflowers along the edges of the grave, as she’d once done around Borte’s body.

  The sky had grown dark and the stars shone down on this bleak steppe. I hoped that by now Shigi had managed to take Toregene to the mountains, and that perhaps these two sisters, joined not by blood but by life and love, could now greet each other with light hearts.

  Their work on this earth was done, yet mine had just begun.

  “Bayartai, Fatima and Toregene,” I whispered. “I shall greet you one day in the sacred mountains, with many stories to tell.”

  I passed under Karakorum’s main gate, guided by the moon and stars and perhaps the spirits of the dead. My footsteps joined those of few others out on the limestone cobbled streets that led to the palace, and the dark figures all shrank back at the sight of a woman covered with filth and reeking of death. I slipped in silence to where Toregene’s Great White Tent had stood, already dismantled by Shigi’s slaves, and dug in the soft dirt outside the ring of trampled earth until I found the gift Fatima had left behind. Smooth and white, with the promise of fresh life.

  Or the ability to end life.

  I recalled the narcissus bulbs Fatima had used to shepherd Borte toward the long sleep of death. I shoved the bulbs into my pockets, wiping away the clumps of black dirt that clung to my palms. I knew not what Güyük had planned for me now that Toregene had been consigned to the earth and Fatima destroyed, and while I considered fleeing, I knew Güyük would hunt me down and destroy me if he chose, and my sons in the process.

  The time for retreat had ended. Now was the moment I’d waited for all my life.

  Güyük’s guards tried to bar my entrance into the Golden Ordu after I’d exchan
ged my ruined clothes, claiming that the Great Khan was in mourning for the death of his mother, but I gave them my most scathing glare. “I am Sorkhokhtani Beki,” I said. “The Princess of the Hearth and Mother of the Toluids has come to visit the Great Khan. I demand to be presented to Güyük Khan, firstborn son of Ogodei Khan and Toregene Khatun.”

  Grudgingly, the guards stepped aside. Güyük reclined on the throne high atop the dais, staring intently at a yellowing scroll spread across his knees with the heavy copper treasury stamp next to him. I waited a moment, then cleared my throat.

  He glanced up, then blinked and offered a slow grin. “Sorkhokhtani Beki, we are honored at your unexpected presence. I’d have thought you’d have been halfway to the barren lands of your sons by now.”

  I bowed so he couldn’t see the hatred burning in my eyes. “I returned when I heard of your mother’s ill health. I’m most distressed that I was too late to help her,” I said, daring to glance up to gauge his reaction. “May I offer you the deepest of condolences, from myself and my loyal sons.”

  Güyük waved his hand, whether dismissing Toregene’s death or my groveling, I couldn’t tell. “My mother was ill for some time. Both she and the empire received a great boon when she passed to the mountains today.”

  If there was any justice in the world, a bolt of lightning would have struck this demon where he sat, but instead, Güyük only yawned and set aside his scroll. “I would send you with a message for Batu when you leave Karakorum.”

  I lowered my eyes, a demure matron. “And what message would that be?”

  “Batu was the only member of the Golden Family not present at my khurlatai. I command his immediate presence in Karakorum, to demonstrate his acceptance of my rule.”

  “And if he refuses?”

  “Then I will destroy him, just as my father destroyed the rebellious Oirat and Uighurs.”

  It was Toregene who had ordered Al-Altun’s execution, and Ogodei had destroyed the Oirat at great cost to himself. Yet I held my tongue.

  “I shall carry the message as you ask, but I would request one favor of you, Great Khan.”

  Güyük rolled up the map of Goryeo, pinching the paper between thick fingers. “And what might that be?”

  “On my way to Batu, I would erect your mother’s ordu next to Borte’s. Your revered grandmother would wish Toregene’s spirit to be nearby.”

  Güyük hesitated, and I could almost hear him mulling this over in his mind. “The winds will destroy that old tent in the months to come. You may do as you wish with it.”

  I neglected to mention that my sons and I repaired Borte’s felts every spring and cleared away its spider webs, and would do so for Toregene’s as well. A third tent would soon join those two, but Güyük need not know about that either.

  “You are a great and noble Khan,” I said through gritted teeth. “The Golden Family and your people are already speculating over which lucky woman you shall make your Khatun.”

  The Great Khan leaned back against his throne. I had been a great beauty when I first married Tolui, but now Güyük’s eyes appraised my flat breasts and thickening waist, the hips that had carried my sons and the gray that had spread from my temples to cover most of my hair. His lip quivered with disgust, but a slow smile spread across his lips. “I could still marry you, Sorkhokhtani Beki. Absorb your lands into my own.”

  I’d sooner die than let that happen. Better yet, I’d see him die.

  I answered with a frown. “You would gain nothing save an old woman in your bed, for I’d come to you empty-handed. My sons are no longer children; they rule their father’s lands and provide for their widowed mother.”

  Güyük stood and descended the dais stairs, bringing the parchment with him with its dark outline of the Goryeo peninsula. Perhaps he thought to continue the conquests of his father, first attack Goryeo and then move against the territories of the Golden Family.

  “You may be right, Sorkhokhtani Beki, and I’ve no need of a withered old woman in my bed,” he said. “Not when I might have my pick of any ripe young woman the empire over. I could take as many wives as I’d like, and install Oghul Ghaimish as Khatun.”

  I shook my head. “Her mind is unstable. I fear she would anger your enemies and alienate your supporters. Better to leave the Khatun’s headdress empty than to let Oghul Ghaimish wear it.”

  Güyük stroked his chin. “Then I’ll take another wife to be Khatun.”

  I feigned nonchalance. “My son Möngke would be delighted at the idea of a union between our two branches of the family.”

  Güyük practically salivated at the idea, whether gaining power over my dead husband’s lands or marrying a fresh young girl. Or both. Of course, no one in my family would let him come within a day’s ride of any of my granddaughters. However, I needed to assure Güyük of our family’s loyalty, at least for now.

  “Your proposition may prove favorable,” Güyük said, flicking his wrist to indicate my audience was at an end. “I shall guarantee you safe passage across the steppes and you may depart with my permission to broach the subject with your eldest son. Of course, you’ll speak to Batu first.”

  “All you ask shall be done,” I promised, taking the oblong copper medallion he proffered. The slanting script down its center read, By the order of the Eternal Blue Sky, Güyük, the Khan of Khans, decrees that all Mongols shall submit to the bearer of this medallion.

  If only things were that easy. I tucked the medallion into my sleeve, made my obeisance, and backed out of the Great Khan’s presence for what I hoped was the last time.

  I hoped never to see Güyük again. At least not alive.

  I was eager to be gone from Karakorum, to return home and surround myself with my music, my prayers to the god of the cross, and my sons. My plan to topple Güyük must succeed, lest I find myself dragged back here to repeat Fatima’s fate.

  On my way from the Golden Ordu, I passed the open door to Oghul Ghaimish’s tent. Güyük’s wife wore jewel-studded hairpins shinier than a fly’s body and her white silks from the khurlatai, but the underarms were stained from many days’ use, and around her neck she wore a tangled necklace of yellow horse vertebrae.

  “Sorkhokhtani,” she said, offering me a gap-toothed smile and pulling me into her ger. The stench of stale urine and the pile of bowls with fluffs of gray mold growing out of clumps of curdled milk almost made me void my stomach again. Yet among the filth was also beauty: a porcelain lion figurine glazed in a pale blue that matched the sky and a polished copper mirror inscribed with two antlered stags standing under the sun. “I didn’t realize you’d returned to Karakorum.”

  “Briefly,” I said, trying not to breathe. I recalled the rape of the Oirat girls, that Ogodei had plucked Oghul Ghaimish from their number and ordered his son to marry her. For a moment, my heart surged with pity for this broken woman, but her next words robbed me of my breath.

  “You missed Fatima’s execution.” Oghul Ghaimish pouted, rubbing her forefinger over the bones in her necklace. She hissed in pain when one sharp edge sliced open her finger, and she sucked away the blood before pushing her matted hair behind her shoulder. A fresh set of golden stitches ran along the ruined seam of the garment’s neckline, the crisscross pattern an exact match of the jagged stitches on Fatima’s face.

  I swayed on my feet at the remembrance of Fatima’s tortured body, her lips and eyes . . .

  “The Rose of Nishapur deserved to die.” Oghul Ghaimish grinned, her teeth streaked with blood. “I helped lure Toregene away from her and watched her breathe her last.”

  I’d thought Güyük had acted alone, but Oghul Ghaimish had helped torture Fatima. She continued to grin, a child proud of her accomplishments.

  “Güyük was pleased with my role during the interrogation,” Oghul Ghaimish said, her fingers—the same delicate fingers that had sewn golden thread through human skin—flutterin
g at her neck. “I wish she could have died a thousand deaths.”

  “You are indeed a dedicated wife.” I blew a puff of air between my lips, my next words weaving a snare I knew Oghul Ghaimish couldn’t help but stumble into. “I’d hoped to offer my congratulations upon your ascension to Great Khatun, but it’s unfortunate that Güyük doesn’t wish for you to wear the boqta.”

  My words had the desired effect.

  “But I’ve earned the green headdress!” She stomped her foot and began to pace, then whirled upon me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is that why you’re here?” She picked at the skin of her throat above the mended collar. “Has he offered to take you as his wife again?”

  I shook my head ruefully, my mind racing. “I’m an old woman now. My only worth is my grown sons and their many children.” I offered a reassuring smile, although my heart felt as cold as fresh snow. “I return to them now, and leave you to your husband.”

  She gave a wet sniff and her eyes shone bright, tears threatening to overflow.

  I turned to go, then snapped my fingers. “I almost forgot,” I said, pressing Fatima’s gift into her hand while keeping some back for myself. “I wished to leave these with you.”

  She opened her palm, her breath heavy and foul. “What are they?”

  “The bulbs of a rare flower,” I said. “The poet’s narcissus.”

  “I care little for flowers,” she said, turning away.

  I kept my voice light. “Plant them if you wish,” I said. “The blossoms are exquisite although the bulbs are sometimes mistaken for garlic. Fatima once told me they can kill a grown man if eaten.” I gave a girlish giggle. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s accidental poisoning.”

  I strode from her tent then, not daring to look back. It was only after the door closed that I heard the lilt of a woman’s smothered laughter.

  The sweet sound of victory.

  * * *

  I hitched the black camels to a cart and directed Shigi’s silent slaves as they finished loading it with the felts and poles from Toregene’s ger. Even the animals seemed eager to leave, braying and pulling on their harnesses. I would ride straight for Batu and then my sons, following the path of the arrow messengers and pausing along the way to let the camels graze. There was only one stop I would make, a debt to be paid.